


the quiet crawl home

by vaudelin



Series: Tumblr fic [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Camping, Dean Winchester Has Allergies, Developing Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Intimacy, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 13:52:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19378027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaudelin/pseuds/vaudelin
Summary: Cas mhmms, his fingers drawing down Dean’s cheek. “I may have tapped out with an excuse to check on you.”Dean inhales sharply, his chest fluttering as Cas ghosts his fingertips down Dean’s neck.“And how are you, Dean?” Cas asks pointedly.





	the quiet crawl home

Dean wakes from his dozing when the zipper to his tent rumbles, the door flap falling open as Cas stumbles his way inside. The light from the distant fire pit briefly overwhelms Dean’s watery eyes, leaving Cas a shadow as he grapples off his hiking boots and collapses into his half of their two-man tent.

The antihistamines have left Dean groggy, but he still catches the loose grin Cas throws his way, inebriation making all of Cas’ gestures lithe and overlarge. Sighting Dean staring back at him, Cas hauls himself into a crawling position and lands roughly on his hip beside Dean’s sleeping bag, one of his large, heavy hands coming to rest firmly across Dean’s brow.

“Your temperature’s down,” Cas rumbles, a sense of victory carrying in his whiskey-warm cadence, though the palm of his hand flushes Dean more than any allergy ever could.

Dean limply nudges at Cas’ hand, unwilling to dislodge him entirely. “M’fine,” he says. “It’s just hayfever, not fever-fever.”

Cas hums, noncommittal, his hand moving gently over Dean’s cheeks as if seeking further confirmation. His knuckles scrub over Dean’s stubble, rasping it pleasantly.

Outside the tent, Jo lets out a raucous laugh, her cackle quickly followed by Charlie and Victor’s vehement booing from someplace near the fire pit. Dean rolls his head toward Cas, quirking his brows in question.

Cas sighs. “Sam and Jo might currently be one-upping each other’s truth or dares.”

“Might be,” Dean drawls.

Cas mhmms, his fingers drawing down Dean’s cheek. “I may have tapped out with an excuse to check on you.”

Dean inhales sharply, his chest fluttering as Cas ghosts his fingertips down Dean’s neck.

“And how are you, Dean?” Cas asks pointedly.

Dean swallows thickly, though it doesn’t dislodge Cas’ touch in the slightest. He touches Cas’ bare knee in an attempt to be assuring. “‘M good. Fine. Sleepy,” Dean adds, scrubbing a knuckle into his eye. “Benadryl really takes me out.”

Cas hums again, only partly listening. He’s looking down at Dean with his head softly tilted, staring as though he’s seeing more than a guy barely enjoying his camping vacation.

Dean removes his hand and tucks his arms inside his sleeping bag, feeling suddenly vulnerable beneath Cas’ open attention. He curls a hand loosely over the half-hard mound currently tightening his underwear.

Cas, same as always, mercifully glosses over Dean’s discomfort. His hand drags along the side of Dean’s sleeping bag, nails thrumming down the ridges of its zipper. The sound of it rings above the distant cricket chirps and conversation, the forest and their friends still gossiping outside.

“You ready for bed?” Dean asks, bowing beneath the building tension.

Cas nods, deep and serious. He pulls intently on the sleeping bag’s zipper. “I was hoping we were going to zip these two together, make an ultra-blanket. Like old times.”

Dean cracks a watery grin, his pulse sapping all its strength. “Thought we’re too old to wake up cuddling.”

Cas shrugs. “Wouldn’t be so bad now, would it?”

When Dean lends no further protest, Cas begins unzipping the sleeping bag until he can fold the whole thing back, exposing Dean to the cool night air. Dean shivers as Cas’ hand gently drags along his abdomen, rucking his shirt with its motion.

Emboldened, Cas’ hand glides downward. His knuckles brush across the crotch of Dean’s boxers, summoning a shuddering moan from Dean.

“Were you touching yourself?” Cas murmurs. “Before now?”

“A little,” Dean mumbles, swallowing. “Liked hearing your voice out there.” No matter where they are Cas’ laughter carries like velvet through the darkness, bundling Dean up in its rumbling cadence.

“Hm. Enjoying yourself while I’m not here?”

“Not enjoying myself,” Dean admits. “Missing you.”

Cas hums, pleased, and with Dean now bared to him, he leans down to give Dean a kiss. Not their first and, god willing, not their last; just one more step along the path they’ve been luxuriating in taking.

Cas aligns himself above Dean, his upper body flexed on his folded arms. His hips touch down over Dean’s, settling atop where Dean is steadily growing harder.

“Missed you out there too,” Cas says fondly, cupping his cheek. “Only you would agree to camping when you’re like this.”

Dean groans against Cas’ mouth. He curves his hand along Cas’ neck, drawing him in for a deeper kiss.

They take their time, Dean enjoying the weight of Cas atop him, Cas clearly enjoying the soft way he’s exploring Dean’s mouth. His pace increases once Dean fits his hand into the small of Cas’ back, his tongue running the seam of Dean’s lips until Dean draws him in.

When their kissing turns hot and heavy Cas sits up, back bowed to avoid the reduced height of the tent, and peels off his casual button-down. Dean groans again, his hands falling to Cas’ thighs, which are currently perched to either side of his waist.

“You look good, baby,” Dean tells him—

—in a voice that apparently carries.

A flurry of cheery catcalls pick up outside, and as Cas throws off his undershirt, he turns around and tears the tent flap halfway down its zipper. Dean leans up on his elbows, spies a small gap of light between Cas’ arm and torso where Charlie and Victor are illuminated by the distant fire pit, their hands cupped around their mouths as they hoot and make kissy suction noises.

“Hey now—no audience participation,” Cas calls out, to which the gang replies with varying degrees of _Awws_ and _Oohs_ (and one distinct _Gross!_ that clearly came from Sam). Cas fires a finger out the door before hastily zipping it back up, blocking out the cackling cheers that carry back their way.

Sitting back on his haunches, Cas sighs and slaps his hands down to his thighs. “Where were we?”

Dean touches his knee, sliding his fingers beneath the seam of Cas’ shorts. “You were undressing.”

“Ah. Right.” Cas moves offside Dean’s sleeping bag, and with a show of strength, he drags the sleeping bag closer to the tent’s center, hauling Dean along for the ride. Cas then crawls over to the mess made of his half of the tent, and in a deft movement slides his shorts down to his ankles, underwear and all.

Dean bucks against the hand Cas plants on his chest, wanting to sit up and enjoy the view. Cas isn’t having it, however, firmly pressing Dean back into his bedding.

“You have to be quiet, Dean,” Cas tells him.

“Okay,” Dean agrees.

“Starting now.”

“Okay.”

“Starting _now._ ” Cas fits his hand along Dean’s jawbone, cupping his neck with his fingers in Dean’s hair. He stares at Dean in a way that should be off-putting, except it’s just Cas, it’s always Cas, and Dean can relax so long as it’s him.

Once he’s drank up whatever he’s looking for, Cas lilts up Dean’s chin and seals his mouth gently across Dean’s, kissing him with chapped lips that taste of cheap Captain Morgan and storebrand soda.

Cas keeps his weight firmly upon Dean, his hips dragging in slow, needy circles, and it’s not long before Dean’s moaning again, his breaths coming raw and raspy.

“You make a sound and it’s game over, Winchester,” Cas murmurs, dragging his lips along Dean’s throat, planting kisses into the hollow between Dean’s collarbones.

Dean clamps his mouth shut, managing to only partly stifle the tailend of a breathy sigh. Cas continues crawling down his body, mouthing messy kisses across Dean’s chest, tonguing at his navel, his nipples. His fingers snake into either side of Dean’s boxers, hooking the fabric at the thumbs and dragging them downward. Dean bucks his hips as his cock springs free, the tip landing wetly where Cas has already prepped his mouth into a plush kiss.

This … this is new territory for them, anticipatory enough that Dean has to steady himself and catch Cas’ eye. Cas, who is busy laving wet bruises into Dean’s inner thigh, his thumbs rubbing the wings of Dean’s hip bones like he fears Dean might take flight.

“Cas,” Dean whispers, hushed to avoid breaking their arrangement. When it fails to catch his attention, Dean tries a little louder, his fingers carding through the wild silk of Cas’ hair. “Buddy, hold up. Are you su—”

“Yes,” Cas murmurs into Dean, his voice rumbling straight to Dean’s groin. He allows Dean to pull his hair upward, forcing him to look Dean in the eye.

He looks—unwound, for lack of a better word. Cas’ brows twist into something earnest, something so openly honest it would scare Dean if it came from anybody else.

“Let me, please?” Cas asks, like Dean has a breath within him that could tell Cas no.

Dean tugs again on Cas’ hair, and Cas goes willing up along Dean’s body, his lips swollen and ready for the kiss Dean gives him, rolling Cas along until Dean rests atop him.

“Uhn,” Cas grunts, as Dean’s hips start rolling, pistoning in earnest against Cas’ cock. “Dean—”

“Next time, baby,” Dean murmurs, into the spot beneath Cas’ ear. “Never gonna keep quiet if my dick’s inside you. Can’t tell me to be quiet if you’re gonna—”

Cas moans again, pushing up against Dean, and Dean lands on his side with Cas scrabbling against him, slotting their hips together with sloppy thrusts. His grip on Dean’s hips is nearly bruising, and Dean matches his zeal with heels hooked behind calves, with grunts and moans bitten into shoulders, with a fist slid between them tugging desperately for release.

Dean breaks, and it’s all over for him, his muscles falling lax as Cas makes shallow thrusts between his legs, the mess they’ve made leaving Dean slick enough for Cas to rut his way to completion.

After, Dean licks at the sweat along Cas’ neck. He runs a thumb over the shell of Cas’ ear. His mouths up to the corner of Cas’ brow. The damp and chill of the tent air creeps in, but he doesn’t care. Not yet. Not when Cas here half-dozing, loose within his arms.

“Was I quiet enough for you?” Dean murmurs, mouthing down the strong line of Cas’ jaw.

“ _No_ ,” shouts a voice somewhere outside, to which both Dean and Cas bellow an unkind request to shut the fuck up. A different voice shouts in retaliation, (Dean’s guessing it’s Charlie,) this time telling all three of them to be quiet.

“Gonna be fun explaining this in the morning,” Dean grumbles into Cas, to which Cas offers a warm, rumbling laugh in reply.

Cas tucks Dean more firmly against him, setting his chin atop the crown of Dean’s head. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Dean glances up, notes the worry lines around Cas’ eyes. “No,” he says, then, “Cas, never. I—” Dean swallows hard, veering off the course he’d impulsively taken. “Still wanna make that ultra-blanket?”

Cas’ brow relaxes. His mouth stretches with a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> for the [tumblr prompts](https://vaudelin.tumblr.com/post/184543773643/destiel-42-98): _“You make a sound and it’s game over."_ and _“Were you touching yourself?”_


End file.
